Prelude to the Dawn
by ASyntheticSoul
Summary: The story of the seraph Lucifer after he escapes from Hell.
1. Chapter 1

--Prelude to the Dawn--

"_For we do not wrestle against flesh and blood, but against principalities, against powers, against the rulers of the darkness of this age, against spiritual hosts of wickedness in the heavenly places." _

_- _Ephesians 6:12

Cold was there, cold was everywhere, licking at his tender insides. Black was there, black was everywhere, but it did not help the loneliness. It was a beast; a living, breathing monstrosity constantly on the prowl. Its prey trembled, not knowing, never knowing when it might strike again. Pain trickled through every minutiae of his being, gnawing at his guts, his soul.

The black struck, laughed, and devoured him.

Everything, everything was what he had once. He remembered it still, every agonizing detail, though the black tried so hard to steal it. It would be easier to forget it all, let the breathing monster take it, but no, never.

He was born in the light of God. Born the first, the most beautiful, and the most terrified. To know nothing but God at one's conception is horrifying, excruciating, humbling, exalting, bliss and wonder itself.

Swimming the heavens and walking the earth, he had everything once. Love, why that had been simple. All any of them knew. He whispered to God Himself; he heard whispers back.

But then it was complicated.

God grew bored with them, he feared. So man was born, from the dust and the dirt. Born to replace them, he feared. And his God, his perfect God, commanded they bow to this dirt and dust.

Logically, he refused.

He had been the most perfect of them all. He was the flame eternal, experiencing every kind of love, and mankind was filth. Determined, he rallied his fellow flames to right the injustice. To prove to his God that they, no, _he _would not be replaced, could not be replaced. A third of paradise followed him, fought for him.

It had been a righteous cause. A cause, at least. But the angels were naïve, too shortsighted to see the truth. His third of the heavenly host was broken, thrown down, their cause defeated. They were betrayed by their brothers and sisters. The trauma was unimaginable.

The scars healed eventually. Or scabbed over, at least. Banishment to the earth was heartbreaking. But it had hardened him, strengthened and matured him. He survived. His cause survived, and he fought on still.

That earned him Hell. Refusing to relent, to accept the superiority of mankind, of maggots, earned him eternal torment.

God, how ridiculous.

But he refused to let the torment change him. He wept, sure, and screamed in agony. Hell is, it is simply… hell. Not fire and brimstone, only pain. Only the knowledge that you are forever banned from the presence of the Almighty. That your secret prayers go unheard. That your hopes are lost, that your dreams are smothered and that your soul is barren.

But he refused to succumb, no, never. He cowered, true; he gnashed his teeth and shivered in pain. But a light remained in his mind, a spark the black sought to crush but never could. It blazed in his blue eyes in that moment, killing the breath of that living beast.

The black struck, he laughed, and devoured it.

Hands stiff, legs quaking, he rose. He stood, the cold fleeing from his confidence. And Hell, well, Hell dissolved away around him. Beaten by determination and poise.

The angel named Lucifer stood, hunched a bit, but stood. The sun was insanely bright; like it might overload at any moment. He raised a shaky hand to shield his eyes.

A car blew by, honked twice, the noise made him jump. He shrunk down, watching it disappear in wide-eyed curiosity. He realized he was naked then, and that his wings were hidden. But he didn't mind. Instead he watched, cautious, as another car sped by.

He followed after it, walking a strange black road with clumsy feet. It was incredibly warm here, he thought. A plane roared somewhere above, startling him again. Made him choke, seeing that metal beast up there in his sky. But he kept on, slowly chasing it too now.

He came across a sign, green and white, in a language he didn't know. But it was similar to one he did, it only took a second to understand.

San Antonio, it read. Population 1,194,222.

Satan walked on, not sure where he was going, just enjoying the ability to walk again.

"_Be sober, be vigilant; because your adversary the devil walks about like a roaring lion, seeking whom he may devour." _

-Peter 6:12


	2. Chapter 2

--Upon Liberty--

"_Stand firm, then, and do not be subject again to the yoke of slavery."_

-Galatians 5:1

There was a great clash of flesh and blood.

Blades tangoed upon the air, singing lullabies to listening ears. There was shrieking, screaming, moaning, cursing and dying. A hand entered a woman's stomach, the fingers tightened, tore, and loosed her entrails upon the ground. A scimitar sliced through a man's neck, his head spun as it fell, his winged body plummeted like lead. The cursing was becoming filthy, the screaming more violent. An arm was torn from its socket. A leg was hacked off. Blood sprinkled down, innocent.

"What does she think she is doing?" His voice as a flowing, melodic thing, only hinting at malice. Contempt underscored each syllable, yet the sound was so magnificent that it masked the spite.

"Lucifer, let's go-"

"_Go_? After this?" A dexterous finger pointed to his left where a dozen bodies and limbs were strewn, some still warm and bubbling. Neither looked, only locked eyes in a match of wills. "I think not."

"There's a reason they came here, Lucifer. And it wasn't for you to fight."

Little drops of red plopped on his face, pitter-pattered against his shoulders. Blood danced on Lucifer's face too, he felt it slicking slow down his forehead and running red down the bridge of his nose. The battle had moved above them, up a hundred feet in the clear blue sky. Neither blinked.

"They came to be sycophants. I did not ask any to die for me, Azazel."

"But they did. They willingly did. You're going to disrespect them now?"

Their eyes fought, more fierce than the clanging steel and pummeling fists above, Lucifer's blues, like the purest pools of untouched water and Azazel's green, like the deepest of the forests. Azazel was tall, he had to look up to make eye contact. Lucifer sighed.

"Fine."

"That was easy," Azazel said with a smirk.

Lucifer shook his head, smiled small, and examined the friend he had missed for years. Azazel was handsome, even for an angel. His skin had a natural kind of tan, his body was lithe and strong, his stylish brown hair draped around his ears and lay intentionally messy across his brow. And he had that wide, childish smile that could disarm anyone.

Humor was what made him, a glimmer in those goddamned eyes that nothing, nothing short of everything could rival, and even then the green would triumph; it was pure and innocent and strong, little could deter it, and he would let nothing, nothing ever dare to try.

"What did you ex-"

He took a step back, eyes closed in frustration, as a body plummeted from the melee and landed with a sharp thud exactly where he had been standing. When he opened his eyes again Azazel's smile had fizzled. His modern and stylish clothes were blotching from the blood shed from above. Lucifer's pure whites were soaked.

The seraph brushed a strand of his long, golden-blonde hair from his face and glanced up. It was a mass of feathery gray and steel and pretty faces. They fought and bled and died so fast that to any other it would be only a blur. He gave the sight a final glare and crouched next to the body before him. She was weeping silently, just like the gash in her throat, knowing she was done.

"Shamsiel," he whispered, never having met this fallen angel. Her clear, youthful face turned to him. Spasms rocked her body, wracked every muscle, and she was choking as fluids filled up her esophagus. The pain was unbearable. "You came to kill me."

She managed a nod, a meager tilt of the head, and he stroked her cheek, brushed auburn hair that smelled of honey from her face. He leaned down, murmured love in her ear and stood. She stopped crying. Stopped breathing, too. Blood still bubbled from her throat, but only a little. Azazel saw his face.

"Don't."

Six enormous black wings burst from his back, long, sleek and elegant. They spread wide as he flicked out his hand, and the air itself solidified and fled from his touch. It was a shockwave of the sky, a hurricane breeze, and that mass of wings and blades broke into a hundred angels as they blew away on the wind. They yelped in surprise, tossed aside like leaves before his might.

Only one remained afloat. She had six wings too, though hers were gray.

He was in the air before those immortal hearts struck another beat.

"Orias," he stated, and the word sparked across the sky like an electric pulse.

In a panic she hurled her javelin at him. It was aimed for his heart, and came within a foot. Time seemed to step aside, with nonchalance he flicked the steel tip of the weapon down, watching it begin to spin. Then he snatched it from the air in his left hand, flying forward as if never interrupted.

He thrust at her, hoping to impale the seraph with her own weapon. She threw her arm wild, deflected the blow with a small round shield, and fled back. With poise and grace he hurled the javelin at her head. But a lesser angel flew before her, took the shaft through his sternum and out his back and fell with a liquid gasp. Then a dozen gray wings obscured his vision, the battle resuming between those two seraphim. It was monochromatic madness.

A small round shield rammed his face, the force of the blow throwing him down. Before he could react Orias threw her bloody javelin at him, hoping to spear him to the ground for his life to feed the grass. Wings folded, twisted, and with acrobatic agility Lucifer contorted to let the weapon slip past his armpit.

He landed on one knee, jumping away before Orias could strike again.

"Satan!" she screamed, and ripped her still-quivering javelin from the ground. "You never should have left Hell! Look at what you've caused!"

Despite his anger he had to stop and admire her beauty. Her skin was like the dew clinging to the petal of a lily: pale, lovely, delicate, and the red buds of her lips stood sharp from it. Immaculate black hair flowed past her shoulders, it glistened like his wings in the noontime sun. And her face, dear Lord, even spattered with gore it was exquisite, shining from just a glimpse of God.

And the six wings, of course, that framed her like a feathery cloak of divinity. The gift of God that separated her and him and all the seraphim from other angels.

"Oh, Orias. If you knew Hell you would have done the same." He smiled wry. "And I do believe _you_ attacked _me._ With a small horde at your back, at that."

"You can't just leave Hell."

"Apparently I can."

"I do not want to kill you, Satan. Repent, return," she called, and pointed her javelin at him only a little dramatically. "Or die."

"Are those my only options?" He laughed dull. "I will have to refuse."

"Then you give me no choice."

She strode forward, hefting her javelin and readying her shield. He felt Azazel at his back, tense and worried. Above, the remaining fallen angels clashed again and again, ignoring the real confrontation below. Blood kept sprinkling down.

"We always have a choice," Lucifer sang to the advancing seraph. "Your options are to beg my forgiveness, leave immediately, or – as you so eloquently put it – die."

She hesitated. Seraph and swine alike recognized the glory of the greatest of the angels. He was beyond them all, she knew. But she had _repented_, she had to prevent him.

His face was like the heavens themselves, his skin the light of the sun made flesh. Nothing could flaw his physical perfection, not liters of blood or wings stained a sharp black. He was glory made real, his eyes could hypnotize even the divine with their grandeur. So she hesitated.

He shattered her sternum. As the greatest of the angels he moved beyond reality, with a grace and speed few could match. Hesitation only empowered him, so she fell with a gasp and in one fluid motion his white boot pressed into her broken chest. Her shield fell and her javelin rolled away, collecting dewdrops. She clutched at his leg, desperate, trying to lessen the pressure.

"No, please," she sputtered, straining for breath. "Don't…"

"Look at how the conviction flutters away," he mused. "Would you have given me such consideration-"

Suddenly a pair of strong and tan muscular arms wrapped around him, lifted him bodily from his prey. His shiny black wings flapped madly as a large hard body pressed against his. Flailing wildly caused his captor to lower him to the ground, though the hold only tightened.

"Leave, Orias," a strong voice next to his ear commanded. "Lucifer is my responsibility."


	3. Chapter 3

--As Family--

"_Michael and his angels fought against the dragon, and the dragon and his angels fought back."_

-Revelation 12:7

"My brother. How nice."

The voice that responded was equally unearthly; bold, booming, drenched with a humble passion it rivaled Lucifer's own for attention.

"You should have remained in Hell."

"I have not seen you for a few millennia or so," Lucifer replied happily. "Since our little tryst over the corpse of Moses, I believe."

"Do not-"

"Such an intimate embrace! Release me so that I may return the love."

Michael laughed. Nothing more. Orias and her troupe flew off, some holding wounded, others loitering to glare. The fallen led by Azazel lingered as well, though at Michael's beckoning they grudgingly left.

Bodies and blood were all that remained. And one angel, heart still beating, arms folded in defiance.

"Leave us, Azazel," Michael ordered, full of natural authority. The tone was understanding.

"Let him go," he said in mimicry of the archangel's clout, only it came out as begging. "Please."

"Leave us, cherub," Lucifer said coldly. "You are no help here."

The cherub named Azazel looked like he'd been slapped. Breathing became shallow, ragged, and he hunched his broad shoulders before disappearing into the ether.

There was a huff, from Lucifer, an odd concoction of annoyance and relief. He dropped his head. Then he threw it back with every ounce of strength he had, shattering his brother's jaw and cracking his own skull. The arms around him loosened, with one step he was free. He turned, smiled radiant.

"Getting lax, brother."

Michael tilted his head, cracked his neck as his jawbone reformed beneath the skin like a child's puzzle. "I can restrain you in other ways."

"So you would like to believe." A sparrow sang to his left, both angels turned as if to remark upon its song but said nothing. Lucifer turned back with a pleasant grin. "And just what do you restrain me from? Afraid in my madness I will slaughter and rape this world? Do you truly believe that? Then again, it does sound fun…"

"I can not allow you to be here. Even if I…" There was a pained moment. "I will escort you back to Sheol."

"And of course I will go willingly."

"That is enough!" Michael yelled, and the pine trees shivered. Lucifer's smirk faltered. "You have no right to do this! You have no right to avoid punishment while billions suffer."

"I will do as I please."

Michael shook his head, glanced at the light reflecting on the tide of the lake, some of it theirs. "We are- This _world _is better off without you."

Lucifer smiled wide, he could feel the tightening of the muscles forcing his lips out and up.

"This world is a sham. I have been here seven days and already I am disgusted by its depravity." He took a second and said in a sing-song voice, "Six billion strong… and growing. The rats have multiplied exponentially, and with them their sins."

"That has nothing to do with you-"

"It has everything to do with me! Me: the _devil. _I am the pied piper of these rodents." He brushed a loose strand of hair from his face, though there was no strand loose. "Jews, Christians, Muslims, Buddhists and Hindus! They all have their requisite evil-doer. Otherwise they might realize sin is on _their _shoulders."

"You are not the devil." It was a forceful statement of fact. Lucifer hummed.

"They need someone to reign them in, brother. God will not do it."

"Do not pretend to have any regard for them."

"Oh, no, I admit it would be a completely selfish endeavor. In fact, I believe I would rather enjoy it-"

Blood drooled from the corner of his mouth, and suddenly he felt the invasion in the gut of his soul. Michael his brother was there and stomping through it trying to wreck it, using his strength to flood him with emotion not his own. Trying to tame him and his glorious spirit! What blasphemy.

"_Get out_," he hissed, and more blood squelched from his lips. His body was failing as his soul concentrated on nothing but protecting itself. "Get out!"

Blood rolled from the ducts of Michael's eyes, Lucifer's might lashing out in retribution. They were struggling now, though all it seemed they did was stand and bleed. Stand and cry and drool red. A sparrow sang to the left.

"I will snap your mind in half!"

Michael said nothing.

"I will burn away every thought you have ever conceived!"

He was choking now, his brother's gift overwhelming his own. The blood was pooling in his esophagus, bubbling up to dance bitter on the back of his tongue before oozing serpentine out his lips. Michael was weeping red now, it had stained his cheeks a shiny crimson, but he didn't seem concerned. Only stood and conquered his heart, trying to subdue his pride, his rebellion, while Lucifer only threatened to traumatize his mind the same.

"_Big brother!_"

Instantly the pain, or maybe love, ebbed from his soul. With a deep breath and a steady hand he wiped the blood from his chin, rose from where he had infuriatingly kneeled. Michael wiped clean his cheeks and with three long strides closed the distance between them, held out a hand to help him up. Lucifer batted it aside. Then he rammed an elbow into Michael's sternum, throwing him back again.

"So pathetic, Michael." There was a kind of sadness to the words. "Take a hint from these humans you worship and learn how to act."

"I could easily overcome you again."

"Try it," he dared.

For a moment he thought he would, and he hardened his heart to prepare for the onslaught. But Michael stood and stared into space, stared straight into the eyes they shared and did nothing. Lucifer cocked his head, took a hesitant step back, spread wide his six black wings and took to the air.

He paused there in those breezes, suddenly higher than his equal, and mouthed something down to him. Reddening, he disappeared, and so missed his brother's angry response.

"Thank _God_, Lucifer."


	4. Chapter 4

--A Hint of Familiarity--

"_Walk while ye have the light, lest darkness come upon you." _

-John 12:35

He leapt invisibly across the city, a smile, if unseen to the world, etched upon his face. How he had missed the skies! Missed the winds through his spirit washing everything clean. Lighten this weight in his gut, the pit of his soul, it even did that. Only slightly, he realized. The inglorious Prince of the Air now, according to humanity, he recalled.

Ha. How fitting. He wondered who told them that.

The thought was nearly enough to distract him. Nearly enough to distract from the actions of that damned traitor. Nearly. But not nearly enough.

He had to make sure it never happened again. Nothing would threaten him ever again.

He landed with a sigh. Made a man dressed like a guard jump at the noise without an accompanying mouth. He laughed then, quite out loud, making the man terrified for his sanity.

After he controlled himself he strolled on, into an ornate building both magnificent and old. It was a nicer architecture than what they had now. He missed it.

Lucifer passed through halls gilded and covered in every kind of art. Passed men in odd cloth clothes, far too many crosses, far too much solemnity, and finally found the man he was searching for. One man who, God-willing, would save him the tediousness of a search. Patience was anything but a virtue.

Fortunately he was not alone but had a young boy with him. A pretty boy, face ripe and alive and still so smooth. Lucifer invaded the child, silencing his weeping soul with a thought. The innocently stolen face stared fixedly ahead.

"Have the arrangements made. Make note to invite Cardinal Bramante," the older man warned. Only then did he notice the boy's stoic demeanor, the shifting of light and dark in the room, how the pious luxury seemed to dance drunk with air. "Are you listening, boy? Paolo!"

"Quiet yourself, you foolish soothsayer." The boy's prepubescent speech had a bemused quirk to it, a little twist to every syllable that frayed the nerves and instantly.

"How dare you! I'll have you-"

"You will have nothing but despair."

"P-Paolo? What are you saying?"

"Must you be so naïve?" With amused annoyance the boy looked up into the eyes of religious righteousness. The child's own brown eyes flashed a bluish-white. "Though it does seem a prerequisite for your position."

"D-Dear Lord…"

"A quick one. Then you will know-"

"Tell me your true name," the man declared. The boy looked ready to snap, just forget the innocence and break the man's spine with a flick of his pinky. "In the name of Christ, I demand it!"

"Lucifer." His face drained. Lucifer smirked through a young boy's own. The older man grimaced, shook his head in disgust, began to back away. He recited a simple mantra again and again, comforting himself with the repetition.

"No. No."

"Yes! What would you have me do? Perhaps a serpent, a dragon or a lion?" The child's smile was wide. "You people do love to dramatize."

"Then you are…"

"Satan. The devil. The adversary of God. The son of perdition. The angel of light. The star of morning. The light-bearer. Lucifer. Yes!" The man cringed. Hating his faith now, Lucifer mused. "I had expected the vaunted Pope to be slightly more intelligent."

"Demon," he murmured, and pulled an exquisitely large crucifix from his robes. "Stay back."

The boy took a step, Lucifer the devil took a step through the boy. The blubbery and blubbering man stood firm, stood with arm outstretched holding a crucifix in a quaking hand. Another step closer. Close enough now to look up at the rotund man, cock his head and smile slyly. One more step and the golden crucifix was pressed into the boy's creamy forehead.

"Exactly what," came an amused whisper. "Do you believe two bisecting lines will do?"

"Be- be gone, cursed one. In the name of the Father, be gone!"

"_My_ Father, actually." The child had never blinked once. "Yours is _dirt_."

"Saint Michael the Archangel, defend us-"

A beautiful laughter cut him off. So much grander than even a child could create; an innocence masked by cruelty yet lovely still. Its grandeur silenced the mortal, seemed to hurt and placate him all at once.

"Tell me," Lucifer cooed, the quiet pride magnificent. The stolen voice was persuasive without effort, urging any who heard it to oblige, and happily. "Where is Longinus?"

"What?"

"The Lance of Longinus. The Spear of Destiny. The weapon claimed to have pierced the Son of Man on his cross." The boy's head cocked further. "Tell me where it is!"

The man snatched a Bible from his mahogany desk, clutching it to his chest like a shield, his cross still out like a weapon against a child's forehead. With a small, soft hand the boy reached out and with a single finger stroked the black leather.

"Just what do you think this ink and paper and binding will do?"

"I don't know where it is," the Pope murmured, looking down into his eyes and knowing fear.

The boy studied his face for a moment. Studied him like he knew everything that hid beneath the skin and everything that would ever be hidden. And with a bored flick of the wrist the man flew back through the air as if on a string, dropped his weapon and shield and hung against a white plastered wall. Holes began to drill through his fleshy palms, blood looked to be pooling in his expensive leather shoes.

He screamed.

"I… I don't know!" Stigmata worsened, the devil within a child clearly not liking that answer. "Please, God."

"Yes, yes! Praise my God when His work stares you in the face!" The old man whimpered. "I suppose you speak the truth. How annoying."

The boy skipped up to the man hanging by invisible ropes, skipped up to the man bleeding from his palms and feet like his idol, and playfully rapped knuckles against his big belly. Laughed when he choked on something thick and wet in his throat.

"I have ruptured your stomach."

"Oh, God…"

"Yes, I suggest you pray. Recite your last rites like a good little Catholic." Lucifer laughed again, through a child's mouth. "Sixty-forty you are going to Hell."

"Signore!"

Shouting and pounding, both frantic. The exquisite door to the office bolted itself. The shouting only grew louder and the pounding more obnoxious. The child bent down, retrieved a black leather Bible and flipped through it back to front.

"I read your book," Lucifer stated. Despite the blood steadily pouring from his hands the man seemed to listen. "Christianity! Ha. It must be nice to abandon your sins. Place the blame on an imaginary figure."

The child's voice cracked as he continued, maybe because of puberty.

"Here I am," he whispered. "Say it to my face. Blame me for all that is wrong with existence. Look this child in the eye and curse my name!"

Blood pooled over his lips.

"Of course not."

The door burst open.

It was so odd, seeing priests with weapons. Nostalgic, even. The child's head burst with the force of two bullets tunneling through it. Exploded in a shower of thick red and chunks of ivory and gray matter. Lucifer studied the splatter, disliked the mess.

Four men rushed forward, not seeing him there. The Pope dropped dead at their feet, his throat shiny red from all the blood guzzling over his lips. Lucifer laughed once, made those religious men jump, and disappeared from nowhere.


	5. Chapter 5

--Something Old and Something New--

"…_Seek, and ye shall find…"_

-Matthew 7:7

The light splayed upon his face, admiring the glee. Nimble white fingers played over a long metal handle, feeling its make. Whiffs of power tickled his nostrils. With only brief hesitation he hefted the weapon, twirling it whimsically at his side. Instantly he felt a surge pervade his body, liquid lick his soul and fear grip his mind. Such a nasty, overly dramatized thing. It quickly went away.

Humming and bored he strode about the carnage he had caused.

Display cases were shattered and overturned, their new but ancient contents spilled out onto the checkered floor. There was jewelry and trinkets and gaudy pottery everywhere. A few dark-skinned, uniformed men were strewn amongst the mayhem, sleeping like little throttled angels. Lucifer poked one as he passed, pressing a broken spear point into his gut. The man didn't react. How pathetic.

This whole thing was pathetic, really. Finding this spear had been far too easy. There was no secrecy. No protection. The great Pope of God had been outdone by a machine. A quick, repulsive use of a _computer_ had brought him here, telling him wordlessly what a martyr couldn't cry.

The Hagia Sophia. Once a temple, then a church, then a mosque and now a dusty museum. The place changed with the fads.

Why here, though? Why had it been so simple? Perhaps that was the secret. Hide it in the open, so blatantly obvious that none would actually bother to look. Made an awkward kind of sense. But he supposed it didn't matter. Here it was in his hand.

Copper distracted his strolling. His reflection in it was so lovely, his flawless face made tan and glittering, his golden hair made to twinkle. With sparkling eyes he pulled the huge old plate from its shelf. There was something magnificent about that color. Something glorious he could not understand or replicate. With a tense frown he replaced the plate, careful, respectful.

"Azazel," he called quietly.

The cherub appeared before him, practically summoned, and struck the seraph with his handsome face full of worry.

"Are you okay?"

"I am fine, Azazel." The embarrassed pleasure he took from the question was embarrassingly obvious. It made the cherub smile.

"Are you _really_ okay?"

"I am… fine, Azazel," he repeated, struck dumb a bit.

A quiet silence crept up on those two angels. A very silent… quiet. Neither seemed willing to break it first, they each just stared like they were remembering details of old looks and expressions. Only after a few minutes did Azazel seem to notice the carnage at his feet and all around.

"Did you go a little overboard here?" he asked, both silly and concerned.

"Oh, maybe." He looked around at the destroyed museum, checking his work again. "It was too tempting. Their faces were hilarious as this old garbage began spontaneously erupting."

"Lucifer," the cherub sighed in exasperation. But he never stopped smiling. When Azazel walked forward, closing the gap between them with just a few strides of his long legs, Lucifer fell back. The cherub stopped. Suddenly seeming to find a cracked Ming vase incredibly interesting.

"I just wanted…" He trailed off, suddenly intrigued by the vase as well. "I need you to attack me."

"So that's what I think it is," he stated, green eyes flicking to the broken, elegant old spear in the seraph's hand. Lucifer nodded. "You shouldn't be- I mean… Never mind."

"No," he argued without an argument, urging the fallen angel to speak. But something held him back, something nagging his mind and plucking at his bloody heart. "So will you…"

"Oh, sure." The cherub stepped forward cautiously, like he was wary to invade his personal space, and lightly cuffed Lucifer's shoulder. Lucifer snorted in amusement, rolling his eyes around to meet Azazel's incredibly deep green ones, with their flecks of brown.

"I asked you to attack me," he scolded. "I promise I can handle it. Now attack me - truly!"

Azazel's fist slammed into his chest. The devil never flinched, though the baroque wall behind him shattered and exploded from the aftershock. Chunks of it fell to the ground while others simply disintegrated.

He watched Azazel step back, then, slow, his face contorted in pain and his eyes clamped shut. His breath hissed between his teeth, his free hand clutched the spot where the cherub had struck him.

"Lucifer! Oh, God, I didn't mean to," the cherub spat out in bullets, snatching the seraph's shoulders in his worry. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry-"

"I _asked_ you to do it." Lucifer laughed, opening his impossible eyes and returning his face to normal. It was good to know he could still fool even a cherub.

"You're such an ass," the cherub complained. The frown turned to a smile though, so it was fine.

"You should know," he said. Then he realized that the cherub was touching him, felt the warmth of his hands on his shoulders and reddened at the contact. Azazel saw and pulled away, reddening himself. The silent quiet nearly lurched back, but Lucifer slaughtered it fast. "That was all I wanted."

"Ah. Right," he agreed, nodding way too much. "I'll- We can talk later?"

"Sure. Later," he agreed, nodding himself. "We can talk… later."

"How about _now_?" the cherub blurted out. "Just- I don't even know."

"Give me a day, Azazel," he asked as much as told. "A few hours. I just need to think."

The cherub nodded understandingly, but still hesitated. Expecting something more from him. Maybe something from himself. Yet nothing killed something, just like that, and neither had anything. So Azazel kept nodding, turned away, his mouth small and tight, and methodically walked through the devil's playground.

Lucifer watched him go and sighed when he was gone. The past went away so easily. For a few hours, at least, if asked nicely. He hadn't asked the cherub to help fend off a bitch, though he had been there just the same. He really should have thanked him for that. He really should have done a lot of things.

He spent a few minutes wandering nowhere, playfully twirling and tossing that ancient spear. The Lance of Longinus was simple, plain iron that was dull and ordinary. The blade was rather intricate, gilded in an olive leaf shape, though the top was jagged from its missing tip. It was amusing to see the lengths some men stretched to prove a truth. He might have laughed, but it wasn't funny.

After a few more minutes, during which his thoughts strayed like his feet, he finally noticed the odd sensation in his stomach. He ignored it, wanting to think stray, personal thoughts while he had the chance.

But the gross, invasive tingling tugged at his innards. It demanded he go on, or it might just pull his insides to its destination anyway. He knew the damned spear was doing it, too. Obnoxious hunk of metal! It was a bastard. The world's greatest.

Persistent though.

So with a grumble he was away, going where he'd go for a person that didn't exist. Not really.


	6. Chapter 6

--For Scorn--

"_Their heart is deceitful, and now they must bear their guilt."_

-Hosea 10:2

The old stone monastery was filled with men and women of a dozen ethnicities and appearances. The place sat atop the mountains of Tibet, hidden in clouds and mist. It seemed so bizarre to see white faces and black faces intermingled with every shade in between. They all wore the same plain brown robes at least, and they all stared.

Lucifer wasn't interested in them, though, so he didn't stare back. He just marched through, too confident to worry about whispers.

The man he wanted was waiting for him. This one did not stand and stare in awe like the others. Instead he chatted amicably with yet another would-be monk, never minding a devil.

He was a handsome man, with tight black curls that draped down around his ears. His skin was delicately tanned, made darker by his outstanding pale green shirt. The buttons were ivory. His face was hard and strong, full of ancient, youthful masculinity.

Lucifer stopped beside the two and stood patiently. The monk turned and stared, glanced back at his obvious superior, then scurried away.

"Lucifer," the handsome man sang, feigning surprise.

"Leliel," he mimicked. "Why no frock?"

"I am not so devout," Leliel replied with a smirk, taking that devil by the arm and leading him away from prying angelic ears. He was taller than Lucifer, but not by much.

They walked in silence, eventually coming to a plain wooden door set between stone walls. Inside was a veritable suite, filled with luxury and nothing but the best. It was a startling contradiction: this modern room in the midst of ancient plainness. Leliel just smiled at his surprise, breaking away and pouring himself a glass of scotch behind a mahogany bar.

"Would you care for a glass?" he asked, only to be shot down by a reproachful glare. "I did not realize you had escaped Hell."

"Orias did not inform you?" Lucifer stated more than asked, leisurely sitting in an expensive leather chair and propping his boots on a matching ottoman. "She _welcomed_ me not long ago. So much for the circle of trust, I suppose."

"I am afraid we have not sat that particular table for a millennium," Leliel informed him, sipping his drink. "Though you know Orias acts before she thinks, so it makes little difference."

"Of course. And I can not blame you," Lucifer said, his tone deadly. "With so many seats empty…"

The silence was awkward. Leliel just sipped his drink, not staring but never quite looking away from his guest.

Lucifer gazed back for a while before growing bored and examining his fingernails, searching for some insignificant flaw. He wanted to be mad at this seraph, he wanted to laugh in his face at his pseudo-monastery, but found he just didn't care that much. So Leliel tempted the silence first, his question flowing with seductive grace.

"How did you get out?"

"On foot," Lucifer replied to his nails. "I walked."

"You make it sound so simple."

"If only you knew," he shot back. "But obviously you could not."

"Look around, Lucifer," he said, still smirking whitely. "As I said: I am not so devout. I could not endure Hell for the beliefs of another."

"They were your beliefs once," he said. "You betrayed them and me."

"We all did. All the Dragons: all twelve fallen seraphim," Leliel argued casually. "At least I am honest about the matter. The rest either try to fool themselves or everyone else."

Silence fell upon them again, ready to devour them both. Leliel kept refilling his glass, not at all concerned that a devil fumed just across the room.

They were all traitors. Every angel in this little stone place, every angel still on earth. Those twelve seraphim. Claim to repent of your misdeeds and be granted a peaceful existence on earth! That was all it was: a claim.

Repentance meant either forgoing your conviction or concealing the truth.

Liars, traitors, or damned souls burning in Hell, that was all fallen angels were. Except for himself, at the moment. And maybe one other.

"This is why I came," Lucifer told that traitor, pulling the iron ring from his right index finger. He flicked it. Midair the spinning ring turned to dust and the dust turned to an ancient spear. Leliel caught it deftly in one hand, never dropping his drink.

"The Lance of Longinus?" he inquired innocently, studying its broken tip. "I thought it nothing but another concocted myth."

"Oh, it is," Lucifer assured him. "But the piece of the Trinity within it is quite authentic. Tell me, what do you hide your piece in?"

"Pardon?"

"Do not think to lie to me, Leliel," he said. "You know it will not work. You possess a piece of the Trinity and I want to know why."

"Always seeing the truth… it must be quite a curse," Leliel joked. Lucifer was not amused. "I mean to use its power to return to Heaven."

"Its power?" That amused him. "You can not seriously believe that lie."

"I know the power just a ninth of the Trinity possesses," Leliel rebutted. "I can only imagine what the completed artifact could accomplish."

Imagination restrained the limitless possibilities of the Trinity. It was said to be capable of anything and more. The power of a god held in the palm of your hand, just there for any soul to reach out and snatch. For a single act you could do anything, receive anything your heart desired.

Wish and it would be done. Like a genie in a bottle. And like a genie the entire thing was nothing but smoke and traps. The Trinity held no real power.

Lucifer knew that. He thought that, at least. Though every other angel in existence thought otherwise. They were all just fooled by the possibility! The Trinity was a myth, surely God would not allow such insanity to occur. But if He did…

"And when God asks _why_ you are defiling His Heaven with your disgraceful presence, what will you say?" Lucifer inquired, rather intrigued. "Maybe, 'Oh, Father, see how I have redeemed myself with a trinket?'"

"God would see my resolution and faith in collecting the Trinity," Leliel contended, taking a sip of scotch. "He would not ask such a thing."

"_Surely_ not." He sighed, now bored with the melodrama. "Collect away, then. But I will want that back."

For a moment that enterprising seraph looked ready to refuse. His eyes darted between that spear and that devil, contemplating which could kill more effectively.

Lucifer allowed him his devious thoughts. He was not at all upset, if anything he was curious to see what Leliel would do. In his hands was one more piece of his precious Trinity; one step closer to achieving his blasphemous little dream. But Satan, freed from Hell, stood expectantly before him.

He hid his doubt well, that perfect mask of his always up. After a few seconds too long Lucifer cleared his throat and Leliel grudgingly relinquished the spear. He watched almost sadly as it dissolved into nothing and reformed as a plain iron ring on Lucifer's finger.

"Would you help me?" Leliel cautiously asked as Lucifer began to leave. "Would you help me gather the pieces of the Trinity?"

"As tiny as this rock is," Lucifer said regrettably. "I have more… _attractive_ options than to traipse around it looking for trinkets."

"Have you seen what this rock has become?" He took a sip of scotch. "It is even more barbaric than what you left behind. You will find no challenge in damning them. You will find no place sacred. The stench of humanity is everywhere. Even in this wasteland in the middle of nowhere you can smell it."

"Then plug your nose."

"And if I am correct?" Another sip. "If everyone is correct and the Trinity grants such power?"

"Then you can laugh down at me from Heaven. But I will not be caught making demands of God again. Try, if you like."

"So you would do nothing with your freedom?"

"Please, Leliel. Do you believe me to be the big bad Satan of mythology?"

"No-"

"Then just _what_ do you expect me to do? Kill some kittens? Pillage some villages? Rape some women and eat their young?"

"I thought you might have grown." Leliel swallowed the last of his glass, setting it down with a definitive clink. "But apparently you will waste your second life playing immature games with a cherub."

There was a deep breath, in through the nose, letting the oxygen swirl in his brain until it cleared, and out through the nose, letting the carbon dioxide carry away his outrage. He smiled wide. "I would say every second in Hell earned me at least a year to – what did you call it? – _play games._"

"Only sixty-three billion. Think that is enough?"

"Sixty-two billion five hundred thirty-five million eight hundred eighty-eight thousand, actually," Lucifer said in a single breath. "But I appreciate the rounding up."

"Fine," Leliel replied, with just a hint of bitterness. "Go _chill_ with your friend. Hang out. Pretend you are not one of us like he and all the others do. _Accept _this world."

"Ha. You are a delight."

"And you are pathetic. Choose a personality, Lucifer. To this world you are the devil. See how long your innocent little seraph act lasts when everywhere you go you smell their stink, hear their absurd thoughts and know, for a fact, that they despise you."

"Lucky me. Not many humans know just what we are, do they? I will simply avoid the _psychics _and _gypsies_."

Leliel smirked, grit his teeth, and poured himself another glass of scotch with refrain. "Fine. Go and exist. The rest of us will continue to live."

"You have not lived for a dozen millennia." A finger tapped a nose, and with it came a sadistic smile.

"One of those, are you?" Leliel sipped at his scotch, the gulp loud.

"This was fun." He turned to leave. "We should do it again."

"I will give you the Trinity," Leliel said, and Lucifer stopped. Feet stayed in place, but he glanced over his shoulder with only mild intrigue. "Find the remaining pieces and mine is yours."

"And why do I need such silly power?" Leliel stared straight into his eyes, a liar, and perfect. But Lucifer was beyond perfection. "You want me to kill Raziel for you."

"Yes."

He held up his hand as he walked away, waggled the fingers in a halfhearted wave. "I will consider it."


	7. Chapter 7

--Variety--

"_From there the Lord scattered them over the face of the whole earth."_

-Genesis 11:8

Sydney, Australia.

He skipped across rooftops, a blur of delirium to eyes weary from a day of work. Not that many would admit to seeing a man with wings and a face like heaven. Not anymore. Not since the institution of madhouses and sublime psychosis. Oh, how they loved to shun the different!

He stopped for a moment. Admired an opera house. Leliel was right to despise them and theirs. Humanity had ravaged this world. Swarmed over every inch to kill it like a slow plague. And the more advanced they became the worse the devastation grew. Twenty thousand years this planet had survived. In the last two hundred they had crippled and nearly killed it, exploded in population and raped the earth itself for every drop of profit.

God, he thought, kill them soon.

"Get a taste of yourself?" a whiny voice laughed. Lucifer jumped without meaning to, then scowled quite loudly. "You look like you just swallowed a lemon."

"What are you doing here?"

"Snooping," the rat admitted. "I showed up for my weekly racquetball game with Az and couldn't figure out why he had a such a shit-eating grin. Coaxed it out of him that you were back."

"_Racquetball_?"

"Yeah. Game with two _racquets. _Bounce this rubber _ball_ against a-"

"Shut up, Gabriel," he snapped. "I know what the game is."

"Hey, hey! You've been gone awhile and back for a whole week." Lucifer glared at his happy face, his sharp, pointed, ugly face. But of course he was a seraph, so he wasn't actually ugly. Damned God. "Thought you might need help catching up."

"I have _caught up_ perfectly well. See how good my English are?"

That made the runt laugh, and despite his irritation made Lucifer as well. Watching his littler body shake, the noise, so familiar, wiped away whatever hatred he wanted to feel. Gabriel was small for an angel, several very visible inches shorter than Lucifer, his brown hair tight and curly. He even seemed thinner and more wiry instead of the natural musculature all his other brethren displayed. The freak.

"How did you not know I was back?"

"You know me. Heaven gets old quick."

"So you have bummed your way around this world for a while. How appropriate." He brushed at his pure white sleeve, thinking it discolored. The clouds were all dank and dark now. "So you are friends with Azazel…"

"Course. Kid's a champ. Eye of the tiger, all that."

"You have gotten _more_ annoying. Congratulations."

"Gotta roll with the times, Luci. Adapt or die. All that philosophical jazz."

"Let me guess," he said with a sly smile. "You drive a Jetta to your nine-to-five white collar job, listening to the weather reports and talk radio on the way. Are _enthralled_ by the threat of terrorism and the ever-changing global market. And pretend to be an enlightened individualist while in reality you are nothing but a deluded drone so confused by the sudden absence of meaning in life that you cling to whatever stability you can find. Am I close?"

"Actually, I still fly to my bar. But otherwise you're spot on."

The seraph sighed, rolled his eyes, wished this little pest would be gone so he could examine that opera house up close.

And that was when he caught it. A scent in the air. A horrible scent, like sulfur and vomit all mixed with excrement.

"So why don't we-"

"Move along, Gabriel."

"Don't bother them."

"I must have misheard," he stated. "Say again."

"I know what you're going to do. Don't do it."

"Why, Gabriel! Are Nephilim not the unholy offspring of our kind and theirs? Did God not send a flood to destroy them all once? Flightless, they could only drown with the maggots!" He laughed. "It seems I only do God's work."

"Murder is never God's work."

"Ha. You never met Elijah, did you?"

"They never did anything to you," Gabriel argued.

"They exist, do they not?" he returned. "Why are you so concerned? Angels are designed to eradicate the half-breeds. We hate them with a racist passion we all embrace. So what created that soft spot in your heart? Bed a girl and get clumsy, Gabriel?"

"You're a dick, Lucifer."

The purer angel disappeared. And with a frustrated sigh the less pure angel did as well. Off to right some wrongs, burn some witches, and do His work no matter the century or complaint.


	8. Chapter 8

--Such a Farce--

"…_when the sons of God were having sexual relations with the daughters of humankind, who gave birth to their children."_

-Genesis 6:4

Dogs snarled at the air, standing stubborn, teeth bared and mouths foaming. A tug on the leash from their owners sent them into a frenzy; five were mauled in the span of sixty seconds. A few pedestrians collapsed mid-stride, scraped their faces on the sidewalk, convulsed and drooled like epileptic infants. One man stared, but Lucifer smiled and he scurried away.

"My, my, my," he said to himself, hands loose on his hips and striking a subtle pose. The city street was empty, the only souls around either concussed or jerking wild on the sidewalk. So he stood nonchalant on the left side of the road, gave a little yawn, and perked up only when a black Prius came barreling forward at twice the legal limit, ready to run right over his invisible self.

He stood.

The car picked up speed.

A hydrant erupted to his right, its spray shooting high and arcing in the dimming light. His flesh appeared to the world, no longer hidden, and he laughed when he felt the young driver slam down hard on the gas pedal, saw the whites of his knuckles on the steering wheel. The car lurched.

An intersection away. Twenty yards. Twenty feet. Twenty gnats crunched on the fender of the hybrid car about to crush him.

Lucifer stood.

A hydrant a block away erupted, its spray shooting high and arcing in the dimming light. The car lurched. Lucifer stood. The Prius sputtered, its wheels locked, and in twenty fractions of a second its momentum died. Rubber burned stubbornly as it slid, gray, smelly smoke, and Lucifer stood as the vehicle came to a halt inches from his shins.

He leaned down, put a hand on the boiling, steaming hood, and peered objectively inside. "Out," he said.

Three doors opened instantly. Two on the passenger side, the front a lovely but hard-looking black woman, her glossy hair pulled back in a tight ponytail, her lips pouty yet proud. Behind her was a white man, his hair cut short, blond, his physique muscled and obvious even through loose clothing. On the other side came a younger woman, an Asian teen, but her flippantly casual clothes screamed American. There was a prettiness to her face, but behind thick glasses and terror not much of it was attractive.

The driver remained seated, knuckles white on the steering wheel.

Lucifer smirked, pressed down on the hood. A young Asian woman yelped as the back tires lifted from the ground. The driver sat, unconcerned, and stared ahead with dead gray eyes.

Lucifer shrugged, pressed down a little harder, and with one blurred movement slammed the front fender into the asphalt. The car went vertical, nose to the ground, and with a flick of his wrist the seraph sent it spinning end over end above his head. A girl screamed. A black woman and a white man stood rigid, watching the car land upside down behind him, its roof crumpling like a gnat on a fender. Lucifer stood straight, not bothering to examine his work.

"Three filthy, dirty Nephilim. And their pet girl. What ever are you doing with her?" The black woman pulled a Beretta from the small of her back, aimed it at his forehead with an experienced hand. Lucifer rolled his lovely eyes. "First you attempt to _run me over_. Now you are threatening me with a nine millimeter long piece of metal? Please."

"What do you want, pigeon?" she asked with an exquisite but subtle British accent. Lucifer laughed.

"Your dripping half-breed head on a platter. Or would you prefer another generic answer?"

The Beretta fired.

Lucifer watched the bullet with a mischievous smile. Then he puckered his lips and blew. The bullet disintegrated an inch from the barrel, the spray of red hot gunpowder blew back and scalded the woman's handsome face. She screamed in surprise, arms flailing and finger squeezing off a wild shot.

The blond caught her before she fell, kneeling gentle and trying to wipe away the blistering soot. Lucifer snorted, turned an eye upon the human girl and snorted again when she cowered. Then he grumbled as something sharp poked his spine, pressing deep enough to draw what felt like a drop of blood.

"You know," he sighed. "You would think Nephilim would learn. It is not the metal that harms; but the spirit."

He spun on his heel, snatching a razor-sharp blade in his left hand, snapping it in two with a twist of his wrist. The young man breathed heavy through his nose, stepped back with his broken sword and examined him. Lucifer examined him back. He was exceedingly handsome, yet not, his hair an auburn brown and a stylish mess, his body immaculate and his skin pristine. But the face, there was something missing to it, a flicker of life that others boasted without thought but this one could not claim.

It seemed familiar.

"This blade," Lucifer said, dropping his piece of it. "Early Etruscan? You are a thief as well as an abomination. How lovely."

"I didn't steal it," the half-breed said, voice deep and flat. "My father gave it to me."

"Your father. Right," Lucifer said. "That is- Barachiel?"

The young man flinched. Lucifer stared at him with head cocked as if utterly repulsed and yet compelled to look.

"Well, I never expected that."

"Who are you?"

"I have many names," he said with a laugh. "Though I suppose being an old, old friend of your mother's is the most pertinent. How is Cassiel doing? Slept with any more human men?"

"Lucifer," the thing stated. It didn't seem to have much emotion at all in that voice or inside. "My parents warned me you had crawled from the pit."

"I seem to be famous." He glanced at the burgeoning black sky. "I must admit, I am surprised Barachiel accepted the monstrosity that popped from his _darling's_ belly. Then again, I doubt he truly did."

"Shut your mouth! You know nothing about me, demon."

"Oh? I see the reflection of your traumatized little existence in those eyes of yours." His smile widened, so white and perfect that even innocent it was cruel. "The silent torment Barachiel rightfully plagued you with. Practically pretending you did not exist. And of course Cassiel loves him far more than you, so she too-"

"That's enough!"

"Calm down, half-breed. I simply find it amusing your mother would defile herself. And so clumsily!"

It was an interesting process, watching a mind snap. A thousand electrical synapses fire at once, registering nothing but pure, unashamed anger, and the brain strives only to unleash that chemical build-up. But this young man, the son of a seraph, stood and breathed and kept control of his mind. It was quite fascinating.

"What is your name, half-breed?"

"Alexander. My father named me."

"I am sure Barachiel _loves_ it when you call him that." He was staring straight into a set of pale gray eyes. "And what are three filthy Nephilim doing with a human girl? Or did she not realize you could survive a… car crash, and walk away with only dirtied clothes?"

"Don't tell him anything, Alex," the young black woman said. Lucifer deigned to turn and noted that her face had already healed, though she remained on the ground with a blond's thick arms around her.

"Feisty again so soon?" He clucked his tongue. "You freaks lack the one thing that makes humans bearable: pain."

"Fuck you."

"What a dirty mouth." Tongue jutting from his teeth he eyed the woman, eyed those brown beauties of hers and absorbed the pupils. "Alexander here realizes he can hide nothing from me. You do not have the… willpower, let us call it."

"I'm not scared," she said.

"We will see."

Time stood still and her pupils, so black, spread wide and full as a pit. He saw everything inside that darkness. Saw every ounce of her life, every thought, every whim she ever denied and every passion she ever embraced. Flashes blew by, her face aging before his eyes like the snapping of an antique film until the face simply stopped aging.

Her first memory was the most delicious.

Screaming, pain, a slickness covering her skin and light searing her eyes and she slid from between a pair of dark legs. A man, face handsome, hard. Woman, heaving, sweaty, face happy, tired. Crying for air, screaming for air, until she knew she could breathe. The man, a pillow, smothering her and she screamed again for air, flailing little arms and legs as fluffiness killed her.

There was a ferocious scream, louder than she could make.

A sharp crack.

The pillow pulled away. Handsome man there, staring at the twisted head of the woman. She bawled, afraid of a head turned at that angle. The man dropped to his knees, made a gurgling sound, was gone in seconds. She cried on.

"You dirty Nephilim are cognizant from the moment of birth. How interesting." With an air of delight he continued. "Yours was like something from a horrible soap opera. Or an excellent one… I admittedly do not understand their premise."

"S-shut up."

"Angelic father. Baseborn human mother. Oh, so _romantic_. Until they get careless while fucking and the spawn that is you comes about. Then when you pop from between her legs your father tries to exterminate you like a rat, your dearest mother's primitive maternal instincts kick in, she fights him and, oh? He slaps her in annoyance and twists her head in a one-eighty."

Her chest was heaving, her rage real but her intelligence slightly more.

"Scared now?"

"Leave her alone," the blond said.

Lucifer chuckled, eyes passing over his, not even bothering to stop. There were flashes of life, real life, until he realized just what filth he was. Then caution was thrown to the wind, life a whirl of needles and pills and booze and every intoxicant ever devised. Only a young female half-breed stopped that. Lucifer snickered, seeing his hard body pounding into hers, hearing the cacophony of their moaning screams.

"An addict? Traded in the syringes for sex with this one, I see. Bravo." He reddened. Lucifer studied the two lovers for a moment, then with dramatic pause turned to the human girl. "But you intrigue me the most. Let us see-"

Blinding white seared his corneas, a pain ricocheted through his nervous system like an ecstasy buzz, frying all sense of wellness. Lucifer hissed, face scrunching, and held a hand to his temple until the pain subsided. Then he spun upon the son of a seraph, voice a quiet scream and face a terror.

"Barachiel and your mother did that. Tell me why they protect this girl's mind before I crumple your skull like a leaf."

Alexander looked unabashed. "She is the Child of Destiny." Lip curled, eyes narrowed. Lucifer laughed hollowly, the noise echoed beautiful in the empty city street.

"The Child of Destiny," he said, enunciating every syllable. "My God. When something is so horribly uninspired and cliché you know it is myth."

"My parents believe it."

"Well, that is not saying much, is it? Your mother has shown how grotesque her judgment has grown. And your father is only human."

"My father is a Dragon."

"Your father is rotting six feet under. Why Barachiel feigns belief in this little girl I have not a clue."

"Because the prophecy-"

"I was there when your so-called prophecy was concocted. The angel who made it is… untrustworthy, at best. But do go on deluding yourselves."

"Is- is he telling them truth?" came a squeak.

"No," Alexander said to a timid Asian girl. "He's the devil. He doesn't tell the-"

A flick of his middle finger sent a dozen hairline fractures snaking through the half-breed's jaw. Lucifer smirked as the young man dropped to his knees, trying to hold his jaw still as pain wracked his nerves.

"Y-you b-bastard…"

"Technically that would be _you_," Lucifer said. "This was fun. Tell Barachiel and your mother I said 'howdy'."

Then he turned and left, laughing that perverted laugh all the way.


	9. Chapter 9

--Marching On--

"_My name is Legion, for we are many."_

-Mark 5:10

The streets of Sydney were empty, filled only with garbage and shadows. The streetlamps sputtered, churning those shadows, flickering off and off until they finally died. It was nearly impossible to see, but impossible eyes see everything.

Those blue things saw a man loitering in an alley, they saw him stop, and they saw the callous, blank look he shot. So Lucifer strolled through the thick dark, casually looking back.

"Go away," he said, approaching that stranger in the dark. The man's ordinary face didn't reveal a thing. It was just a mask, and excellent. The eyes, though, the eyes seemed to flicker like the streetlamps had. But then they stopped, just brown again.

"You don't command me." The voice was low and gratingly average. Nothing special about it.

"Really? And here I thought one of my few dozen titles involved Hell… and being the lord of it," he said with a worried frown.

"You're not the real lord of Hell," the man contended. He never smiled or laughed or frowned, only stared ahead impassive. "You're just some emo angel burning with the rest of us."

"What is your name, demon?" he demanded coldly.

"I forgot it." Like it never mattered to have received one at all.

"Of course you did," he said. "But I remember mine. Hell did not burn away my name or my memories, like it did yours, _human_. That is why I am its lord… and your superior."

"Human?" Disgust at the idea. "I am _not_ a pathetic human."

"Not anymore," Lucifer agreed. "Now leave, before I send you back to the pit."

"You wouldn't," it said steadily, though the human eyes flashed again like faulty bulbs. Terrified, though light is an impossible thing to read.

"Tell me who sent you," Lucifer bargained with a smile. "And I will not."

"Never-"

"Exorcizo te, immundíssime spíritus, omnis incúrsio adversárii," he recited fluently, watching as the human gasped, its mouth open but the air sucking and rattling. Its ordinary face scrunched in pain, it doubled over against the spoken assault. "Omne phantasma, omnis légio-"

"Stop! Stop…" It breathed again, slow and deep, trying to replace its fleshy mask. "An angel sent me. One with six gray wings. Is that what you want to hear?"

"I want the truth!" he spat, squeezing its pudgy throat with a hand. He lifted the thing from the ground, making sure its cheap leather shoes dangled above the asphalt.

"No one sent me," it growled.

"Then what," he hissed, his face inches from his captive. "Are you doing here?"

"Looking to kill the Child of Destiny," it said, finally laughing.

Lucifer glared into its now constantly flickering eyes, seeing something else behind the human ones, something racing back and forth, something hiding and cowering. Just using these wide, brown things as windows.

With a huff he tossed the thing aside, watching as it slammed loudly into the brick-sided building. With another look a splintering crack echoed about the place. The demon gurgled as its stolen bones snapped. A dark stream of blood oozed from its mouth. It obnoxiously cracked its neck, barely noticing the physical trauma.

"Careful now. Don't want to hurt this innocent meat-sack."

"Oh, I would not dare." Then he flicked his wrist and another dozen bones shattered in place. A second line of creamy blood drooled out the demonic human's mouth. "But I will have the truth."

He was inside that twisted mind in an instant, just one burst of those insanely clouded eyes. Except there was nothing to see. Nothing at all but pain and anguish. It registered trauma and delight as one. Lucifer saw its latest work. Saw how it stole a body. Saw how it used the man to kidnap a young girl, slice open her belly and play with her insides as she screamed, then sobbed, then died with her entrails torn to shreds.

He saw how the thing took another and another, raping a few before mutilating their petrified faces and making their insides their outsides. How it violated their mouths and privates while hacking them to bits. It was a cinema of blood and sadism.

He saw what this thing had been once. Just flashes like the light. It was human, like all demons. Ignorant and sinful and carefree. Not a monster that sliced open girls, then women, then men, then anything that moved. The name was gone. It was just a thing now. Just a soul that was born, lived, and died.

No humanity left to it.

Then he saw Hell. The gurgling cries ripped through his chest and into his beating heart. He felt the heat sear his eyeballs, the cold stab his guts. The horror unfolded live before him, not flashing but running smooth and crisp. The torment in the thing's mind reached out, caressed his face, and dug its claws into his throat to pull him in. No. _No_. No!

"Pathetic. This is why you are not our lord," the demon said with a human voice, rubbing its neck as it looked down on him. Lucifer was sprawled on the ground, his breath ragged, hair wild and eyelids drooping. "But we'll have one soon enough. So all is forgiven."

"What?"

"I'm sure you didn't notice, being in Hell and all." He crouched down to be on eye-level. The smile was sickening, the still soft blood running from the lips. "We're being summoned, in greater and greater numbers. There are hundreds of us, maybe thousands. Quite the party."

"Who?"

"We don't know," it admitted casually. Light flickered in those eyes again. "But when we do… this world will have some fun."

"I know who," Lucifer said, sticking the Spear of Destiny in the demon's belly.

The nasty smile faded as the seraph twisted the metal in his gut, pushing him up as he rose. Clumsy human hands groped at the shaft, but the angel didn't mind, just watched as those eyes went wild with their flashing and dying.

"Y-you… traitor…"

"I will even give you a hint," he whispered. "Demons can not summon demons. Fallen angels can not summon demons. And humans tend to _die_ when they deal with demons. Go on, take a guess."

"N-no," it argued, blood guzzling from its lips.

"I think so," Lucifer argued back, scrunching his nose and smiling. Another twist and those cloudy, manic eyes fled into the recesses of that body. Out came a man instead, more wide-eyed and pained than the other.

"M-made me…" There was a little bubble of blood on his tongue. "Aw-ful things."

"Quiet. You are free now," Lucifer said, not unkindly.

Then he grabbed the man's scalp and pulled back his flopping head, making sure he could see those eyes. They screamed at him, all in broken white. Then they filled in black, obscuring the whites and corneas entirely. It swirled like rotten mist in those windows to the soul, but congealed when struck with the devil's lovely blues. Like old poison.

"And you: back to Hell."

There was an odd kind of roar, beastly but sad, and the streetlamps flickered back to life.


	10. Chapter 10

--A Gnat--

"_Now there was a large dragon, and the Babylonians used to revere it."_

-Bel and the Dragon 1:23

The place was nearly as run down as he expected. A weathered sign swung, metallic clang, declaring the place "Piston's" and old. All the windows were yellowed, dusty, three were shattered but still clinging to the framework.

Lucifer hesitated outside the splintered door, glancing down at his seamless white clothes. He thought about changing, shrugged, and pushed open the door. It creaked.

"Ah, fuck you. Damn bunga. I've done her."

"Bullshit. _You_ come at her full-mast and she'd cut it off."

"Still be bigger'n yours."

Lucifer smirked, absorbed the place in a glance. Two maggots slumped against the bar, sounding and looking and smelling like rednecks. The bartender wiped a filthy rag on his brow, then a chipped glass, and never blinked once as beauty itself walked in to his fine establishment. A few other locals were hunched over tables, nursing their alcohol, backs and spirits both beaten down.

Only one face in the dingy, filthy place was bright-eyed and clean-shaven. Attentive, too, his pale gray eyes caught both a rat bolting across the floor with a moldy pretzel and Lucifer's unglamorous entrance. So with an amused smile Lucifer strolled to him, ran two fingers through his oddly mature silvered hair as he passed, and took the seat to his right, folding his legs out to the side. The other two at the table sat as stone, though the woman's nostrils were flared.

"Demons, Samael?" he wondered conversationally.

"Demons, Lucifer."

"A talkative couple too, I see."

"Screw you," the woman growled. She was a hard-looking woman, a native for sure, with a lopsided nose probably broken in youth and scraggly, lanky red hair. Pockmarks lined her face, she smelled of vomit and piss. The man was practically the same, just with short brown hair and a bigger gut beneath his leather jacket. Made the two seraphs look even better.

"If you could," Lucifer challenged. Then he sneered at their stink, smelling the vodka on one's breath and the bourbon on the other's. Preferred vices survived even Hell, he mused. The man lit up a cig, burning through half of it with one long drag, blew the smoke out his nose. "Must you ride them so hard?"

"Only way to live," the man answered, voice gravel.

"Such admirable company," Lucifer said to Samael. "What are you doing with them?"

"Discussing business. Nothing more than trivial."

"Imperat tibi fides-" Their eyes were flashing now, white like their skin but whiter. Neither made a move, made any move at all, knowing it would be useless. "Sanctorum-"

"Servare hoc animae ex gehenna."

The white flashing of their eyes died, gone and gone, their rotten souls hidden again in this human man and human woman. The man took another drag. "Never got the whole Latin bullshit. Got these damned New Zealand hick accents, but we still understand real talking."

Lucifer turned to his fellow fallen seraph and smirked.

"Saving demons from the pit? You must explain."

"Their hosts will die with them-"

"Please. You have no love for humanity."

"But I'd still rather not see souls be damned," Samael said. "Demonic or not. Surely _you _can understand?"

"Surely I can." Lucifer took a moment, and when he continued his voice was ice. "Remind me, Samael, when were _you _sent to Hell?"

Samael gulped.

"Oh, that is right. You never went." The two demons, the man and the woman, were actually snickering now. "I forgot that you quailed and begged some unearned forgiveness, sparing yourself the horror."

The light was shifting wild, the dark getting light and the light getting dimmer. Locals were muttering into their glasses, feeling the atmosphere get thick but not knowing why. And Lucifer's words were venom, his voice a quiet scream and his flawless face a terror.

"I forgot that you never had your soul ripped apart piece by piece and devoured. I forgot that you never froze in solid darkness and begged for the ice to slit open your throat and the black to smother you."

"Enough!"

"I _forgot_ that you never screamed as fire licked your insides and your outsides. I forgot that you never drowned on your tears and gagged on blood that would not stop flowing. I forgot that you never screamed for death, _begged_ for death but received nothing but life!"

"Stop, please, stop!" The locals were muttering audibly now, commenting on the mad tourist shouting at nothing. The two demons were laughing.

"Maybe now," Lucifer murmured, practically _licking _his ear. "You can pretend to sympathize _slightly _better."

He leaned back as the seraph tried to compose himself. "So, what did he want you two lovely souls for?"

"He wants us in China by tonight. Going to attack some humans."

"Really?" Lucifer exclaimed, surprise mostly feigned. "I was under the assumption demons acted slightly more… subtle. And fallen angels only kill humans if they, well, want to fall further."

Samael reddened, slightly, pale skin flushing against the attack of Lucifer's blue eyes and white smirk. Those eyes examined every minutiae of his being and forced out the truth.

"The Trinity," he said. "A piece of the Trinity."

"Ah. I see. And of course you would not want the demons you are manipulating to know that juicy secret." The demons smirked; Lucifer did too. "Well, I will leave you to your… _business_."

He rose and began to walk away. Finally the bar urchins had noticed him and were beginning to ogle.

"Lucifer!"

"Yes?"

Samael said nothing, just glanced between the man and the woman. Their eyes had clouded, turned a liquid black. Lucifer smiled, leaned down, whispered love in the woman's ear.

"In the name of the Most High," he whispered, then glanced at the man. His eyes were flashing white quite madly and he'd dropped his cigarette. "I banish thee."

Both choked wet, their eyes returned to plain brown, and the man slumped limp and the woman dropped dumb. Her forehead cracked on the table. With dramatic flair Lucifer put a finger to her neck, struck a thoughtful look, and shrugged.

"They did not make it. Oh well."

With a wink he strolled away, on and on, away from the fly.


	11. Chapter 11

--The Endless Stretch--

"_Its snorting throws out flashes of light; its eyes are like the red glow of dawn."_

-Job 41:18

He soared over the boundless waters, apparently what was now considered the Pacific. This day had been amazing. Time simply didn't matter when one was free.

Now he only wished to finish what had begun his interrupted start. It would be a surprise, it would make him smile, and he had missed that smile. The awkwardness would not last long, surely…

Something hard collided with him, ripping him and it from the sky and plunging both into the icy waters. Their velocity carried them both deep into the oceanic abyss, where light was dim and creatures fled from their innate brilliance.

With acrobatic agility Lucifer kicked away from his attacker, his wings carrying him away swifter than the fastest fins. He turned beneath the water, his thoughts resounding like speech through the currents as he spotted his adversary.

"Again, Michael? We had this same experience mere hours ago," he said. "Flutter away like a good little angel."

The seraph's handsome face hardened at the order, his large body floating with the current. His short brown hair whipped in the water, his six pure-white plumes spread wide. Platinum buckles shone in the dark, the straps they belonged to holding his simple warrior's garb tight. The tanned angel responded equally in thought, his words as magnificent as his eerie glow.

"Why do you have a piece of the Trinity?"

"Oh, this," Lucifer sang, holding up his right hand and waggling the fingers. His blonde hair spread with the ocean, his pale complexion made him a ghostly opposite of Michael. "I merely thought it looked nice. Now commence fluttering."

"You know I will not," he said. "Relinquish the piece to me. You are only making your situation worse."

"Worse. Really?" He laughed, without ever opening his mouth. "Do explain yourself, brother."

"You know I can not allow-"

"You can do anything you like," Lucifer corrected. Michael tightened his jaw, his hands clenched as well.

"I am not the same as you." That simply the echoing laughter was killed, Lucifer's smile fizzled into a frown.

"Get away from me," the frowning seraph demanded. "I want to see your petrified face when the demons you helped create slaughter your precious mankind. If I kill you here-"

"That is enough." Lucifer looked sullen, but something kept him from refusing. "Do not speak about such things."

"Fine." They watched each other, for a little while.

"So you are actually planning to consort with demons?" his brother proposed, not believing his own words. "You would seek to destroy humanity?"

"Oh, not me," Lucifer assured. "I am not so foolish. But I have always assumed others are."

"No, you are no fool, my brother," Michael agreed. "You are simply stubborn and callous."

"And you are simply simple," Lucifer snapped. This particular angel seemed to offend him with every humble word. Especially the honest slaps, that instead of bouncing off his iron will seemed to seep inside and throttle his heart. It made his arrogant nonchalance fall away. "We can continue this immaturity for years, Michael. Just go and… let me be."

"You are afraid of me," Michael said slow and quiet. The realization was immediate and disturbing. "That is why you… How did this happen to us, Lucifer?"

"You…" Those eyes he shared narrowed. A bubbly gasp. His feelings quickly closed upon themselves, hard and concealed. "How dare you. Stay out of my heart, Michael!"

"You never minded before."

"_Leave me_!"

Lucifer's body overflowed with light, the seas around him bubbling and broiling with his power. It took just an instant before he reappeared, massive and animalistic.

His form was snakelike, enormous and long, scales covering the entire body. His head was elongated vertically, with a jaw full of enormous teeth that appeared excellent for eviscerating. His smooth, scaled body was interrupted in places by gigantic tentacle-like protuberances wriggling grossly in the water. A huge iron band was around his midsection.

Michael appeared miniature prey before the deep-sea behemoth, but his voice retained its strength and confidence.

"Leviathan? That is not a form you should take, brother," the white-winged seraph scolded. "You insult our Father with such blasphemy."

"Our God will survive." His voice retained its beautiful flow, but an animalistic rumbling underscored it. "Why do you insist on bothering me?"

"Why do _you_ insist on following this crooked path?" came the coy rebuttal. "If you would but relent, perhaps He would-"

"Yes, perhaps! Or perhaps He would remain stoic, blaming all thoughts and actions adverse to His will on my existence! I am, according to our _God_, evil incarnate. I am the corruption that plagued all other souls and destroyed the peace of Heaven and tainted the Earth and caused the creation of Hell! Ha…"

"You do not truly believe that. Perhaps-"

"Perhaps nothing! As long as God refuses to correct His mistakes I shall be the scapegoat for all that is wrong with existence! Open your eyes, my brother, and _see_!"

"I see well enough," he said. "We are servants of God, Lucifer. Our futures- we can not hope to comprehend what He has planned for us."

"We are the servants of God," he agreed, that enormous, dangerous mouth of his gaping. "And as His servant I will correct His mistakes."

"Lucifer!"

"I will not accept some uncertain fate. I will determine my future myself. And you… you will not hold me back again."


	12. Chapter 12

-1--To Reunite--

"_A friend loveth at all times, and a brother is born for adversity."_

-Proverbs 17:17

The Leviathan coiled about itself, scaly body twisting in defensive bundles as its maw gaped in anger. Tentacles wobbled in the current. Several were lopped off near the base; gashes lined the snakelike creature's body. Its blood twirled, dancing in the water.

Michael floated before the beast, visibly shaken. What appeared to be chemical burns were forming on his bare arms, black and bright red. His face was deeply bruised, several of his ivory wings bent and broken. A silver sword hung limply in his grasp, clean and bright. Blood swirled around it.

"That was pathetic, brother," the monster hissed. Its unnaturally grotesque tentacles thrashed in anger, lashing out at the water.

The glorious warrior's eyes continued what his body could not; attempting to tame his beast of a brother. Michael responded in thought, his exhaustion evident even in such an insubstantial thing. "Did you really think I was trying?"

"Neither was I!"

"You should not be ashamed." Despite having fought, injured, and brutally beaten each other the angel remained calm and kind. Always considerate and damned knowing. He barely seemed to notice he communicated with some ghastly, serpentine beast rather than an angel. "You fought well, considering your handicap."

"I will change back, then, and continue," he threatened, the Leviathan's mouth gaping in a disturbing, deadly grin.

"Enough, Lucifer." Painfully slow he sheathed that bright silver sword. "This is pointless. I will not fight you."

"Then you will die!"

The Leviathan burst forward, churning the ocean as its massive bulk was propelled illogically fast. Its jaw full of fangs went wide, ready to consume that seraph like the morsel it was. But the seraph never moved.

A solid wall of water shielded him instead, the sea snake shattered its jaw against it, its long, twisting body thrashing and colliding against the unseen force. The noise was sickening, a kind of squelching crunch as the beast met water like concrete.

Then Michael threw out his hands and that water pulsed insanely, blowing the monstrosity away like a doomed little leaf.

As it fell, deeper and darker, the beast flashed, static, and became a gorgeous angel with six black wings. Those wings trailed up as its broken body drifted down, pointing to the skies beyond the hidden waves. Carried along by the currents, down and down. Michael caught that soul before he fell further, taking him gently in his arms.

"You are done, brother," he said, looking into Lucifer's half-closed blue eyes. They shared those eyes, like they once shared everything. Lucifer's mouth twitched. Restraining a smile or trying to create one, that was beyond estimation.

"Ah… the pain… Do not. Stop," he ordered pathetically, twisting away his arm. The two struggled like feisty children. Michael had an arm around his waist, the other was busy trying to catch his flailing hand. When he caught it and nearly pulled the iron ring from his finger, Lucifer screamed. "Stop!"

It happened too fast. Somehow he broke free. Before the other could react he kicked him in the head, throwing him down to the bubbling vents below. Then he was gone.

It took seconds to reach the American shore. The waves slammed down three, four times, forcing him to gasp as he struggled. Eventually he dragged himself out, crawling miserably across the rough beach. He lay there for a minute, just breathing, before sitting up, pulling his knees to his chest and folding his wings over himself like a warm blanket.

"A-zazel."

It took a moment, but then a cherub was before him. His face was terrified, those deep green eyes wide. Immediately he crouched down, his handsome face close, pressing a large hand into his chest as if to feel the pulse. Lucifer stifled a cry, his chest tender. Everything was tender just then.

"Who did this to you?" His other hand brushed the sandy wet hair from his eyes. The seraph shook his head. "It was Michael, wasn't it? I swear I'll kill him myself-"

"Azazel," he repeated, catching the cherub's wrist and squeezing his thanks. It was a nice thought, if absurd in every way.

"Come on," Azazel said soothingly. Those strong hands of his slipped beneath his armpits, squeezing to pull him upright. "You need to rest, it's not far-"

"Don't!" The gentle pressure against his sides sent pangs through his flesh. Azazel apologized with his eyes. "I just wanted you- to…"

"Enough."

"Need to go," he argued. Without lyrical beauty, though, there was no persuasion. A cracking voice was useless. "If I-"

"Stop," Azazel commanded and a devil obeyed. "You don't _need_ to do anything but rest. I'll even stay with you, maybe help bore you to sleep."

Lucifer laughed at that. Rattling, hacking, and pained, but still laughter. So innocent that it wiped the worry from a cherub's face, ushering in his patented silly smile. Azazel sat heavily next to the seraph, putting an arm around his hunched shoulders as he began to droop and collapse. Lucifer's black wings disappeared.

"Why do I put up with you?" Lucifer questioned. Just a generic, unmeant slap. Azazel tilted his head close and whispered, his amusement apparent.

"Shouldn't I be asking that?" A seraph made a whimpering, tiny laugh.

"Ugh… I look horrible." He looked drowned, certainly, though the light in his face and his eyes had never gone out. But he was covered in clumps of sand, his beautiful, long hair was wild and braided in parts with weeds, and his entire body was shaking pathetically. "Go away."

"What?" the cherub exclaimed, feigning offense. "Do you think I hang around just for your good looks?"

"Yes," Lucifer croaked, trying to tease.

"Rest, Lucifer," the cherub said, squeezing his shoulder. "You can't go on like this."

"I can do anything," Lucifer argued, very quiet.

"Of course you can," the cherub agreed. "Then why don't we talk about…"

Lucifer's head slumped onto his shoulder. Expertly avoiding conversation. Or maybe just unable to go on.

The cherub simply enjoyed the warmth, the sunrise on his back, watching light dance upon the water. The devil's methodically rising and falling shoulder tickled his arm. His sleeping breath sung like a piccolo and smelled of honeysuckle. It reminded Azazel of a time before the rebellion.

Even in his sleep Lucifer was cruel.


	13. Chapter 13

-1--A Menagerie--

"_Who told you that you were naked?"_

-Genesis 3:11

Images seared his eyes. He was floating down, warm bubbles burst upon his back and all around.

Kneel, someone said. Kneel, he repeated. The memory was bizarre. A thousand thousand angels falling prostrate. He saw himself kneeling, through another's eyes, felt an odd sort of rage. Then he saw the other still standing through his own eyes, felt a familiar fear. Kneel, he had repeated. The memory was so bizarre.

His head rested on the rocks. Kneel, he had screamed in his head. His memory was melding with the other. Blackness took him, deep beneath the sea, as he experienced the past through another's eyes…

They were so hideous. But he couldn't look away. There was something fascinating about their ugliness. New and different, it repulsed but intrigued him all at once.

The gardens were impressive though. He had loved them since he first set foot in them. They reminded him of that smile, that first wide, innocent smile. He saw it still in all the green and vibrancy. He hadn't been smiling earlier, and he wasn't sure if he wanted to see the smile now. Not right now.

The wife was dozing beneath a fig tree, a hand resting atop her breast. The husband was just feet away, brushing his hands through the mane of a lion. The beast purred at the awkward touch, nuzzled playfully with the man, its head the size of his torso, but gentle and loving. It was disgusting.

Lucifer murmured to the wind. The docile cat roared suddenly and proud.

The woman shrieked. The man yelped and fell on his bare ass. An angel laughed.

"Brother…"

A sigh. The lion padded off, disturbed by all the noise. A larger, stronger-seeming man settled next to him. His arm did not wrap around his shoulders, as usual.

They both sat, looking out over a bubbling brook, and watched as that couple clung to each other in fright. They were too naïve to notice the angels.

"What do you want, Michael?"

"Do I need a reason to see you?" The seraph looked terrified at the idea. Lucifer stared at his brother's knee, bit his lip, and nudged a little closer.

"I am sorry," he murmured. Trembling, apologetic, he reached out and took his brother's larger hand. Their fingers entwined. "I have been neglecting you lately."

"He is your friend," Michael said. "I understand."

_No. You do not._ But he couldn't say it. Instead he stared back across the clear water. The majestic lion had returned. The man gleefully returned to petting it, too inept to remember how it had terrified him mere seconds ago. This time the woman joined him; they babbled stupidly across the beast's back.

"Are you going to tell me why you did that?"

"Look twenty paces ahead, brother."

"You offended our Father," the other seraph said. Fearing the words, his tongue, the idea of it. Michael's hand squeezed too tight around his. The blonde felt three of his wings brush with three of the brunet's. They were so white, not like freshly fallen snow - no - but devoid of everything.

"I honored our God," Lucifer said.

"You disobeyed Him," he whispered, rightfully afraid. "What if He is angry? What if He punishes you?"

"He will not."

"You should have kneeled."

Lucifer just shook his head. When he realized he would get no response the darker one pulled his brother closer, pressing his head to his shoulder and resting his own on his blonde crown. The morning star quivered a little, liking the warmth.

"Is this what will replace us? Is this what we must accept?" he wondered. The man and woman were cuddling now, lying in each other's arms.

"Our Father loves us, Lucifer."

"He already made us kneel to them. These gross things," he muttered. "I will not by supplanted in the eyes of our God, Michael. Never. Certainly not by these eyesores."

"You should not fear such a thing. Our Father will never abandon you. And… neither will I." The arm around him squeezed nicely. "Why do you dislike them? I find them interesting."

"Maybe now," Lucifer argued. "But in the future? Will God still feel the same? When they multiply like rats and roll in their filth will you still love them?"

The other seraph fell silent this time. Lucifer ran his fingertips across Michael's chest and belly, tracing the jointed metal plates covering his flesh. It made an intricate art, the brilliant silver meshed with the tanned skin. And both were silky and warm, like the refined rock didn't even exist. Though the light from it was bright. The prismatic gems covering Lucifer's flesh felt the same, he hoped.

"I know how to defeat them," he whispered in his brother's ear.

"Defeat them? They are little children, Lucifer," his brother said, perturbed by the idea. "What game are you playing with them?"

"The most important of them all," he said.

The larger angel said nothing. Just sat there, holding him and holding him.

After a few hours, during which the husband and wife fell asleep to the rhythmic breathing of a lion, Michael rose and pulled him along. They hopped over that stream like it was nothing, approaching those two on quiet feet.

"See how peaceful they are?" Michael murmured. "They are beautiful."

"They are hideous," Lucifer corrected. His brother crouched down, delicately brushing hair from the woman's dreamy face. He didn't seem to hear. "They gape at us like baboons. And the woman had the gall to touch me. Humiliated me in front of everyone…"

"They are only curious."

The woman was stirring now. The man still slept. She gazed at them in terror, seeing the frowning god towering above her. But the other, closer face was smiling and she quickly fell at ease. Michael kissed her cheek. Then rose and pulled Lucifer aside, shielding the woman from his scowls.

"Lilith was prettier than her."

"Come with me and apologize to our Father," Michael asked, but ordered. The woman was standing now, yawning and stretching. "I will stand at your side, so you are not embarrassed."

"I have nothing to apologize for."

"You should-"

"Get back!"

"Lucifer!"

The slap was harsh and piercing. The woman held her crimson face, quivered then bawled, too dumb to get back. Her hands stayed away from the tall tan angel before her though. Smart enough not to touch him again.

Michael looked both afraid and angry. Like he was wondering whether to hug away the woman's sadness, whisper away his brother's outrage, or throttle him. He decided on none. Lucifer just glowered at the bitch, demanding she step back or be drowned in his raging blue eyes. She did. He did too.

"Why did you do that?" Michael demanded, striding along as the seraph left. Before he did more than slap her. "Lucifer!"

"You know why." He didn't stop until his brother caught his bicep and spun him.

"What is wrong with you?" Michael demanded again. "You are not acting yourself."

"It is nothing."

"It is clearly something." He tried to use those eyes against him, but that did nothing. He tried to use those comforting arms against him, and that clearly did something. "_Tell me,_ Lucifer."

"You are very dense," Lucifer whimpered to his chest.

"You should not be afraid of them."

"I am not afraid," he said slowly, methodically. Michael was rubbing his back, wiping away his anger. "Would you find Azazel for me?"

"Oh. I…"

"What?"

"May I stay with you?" Michael wondered, a nice nervousness in his voice. "Just for a little while?"

"Oh, yes, of course."

The seraphim found their own tree to sit beneath. Just watched that pair of humans play and laugh. The lion had licked the woman's face with a gritty tongue until her tears turned to giggles. Michael said nothing. Just held him close, a childish glee across his face as he watched those two. He fell asleep in the middle of that natural paradise, a smile on his face.

Lucifer kissed his cheek. Looked above.

A single round fruit dropped. He caught it in one deft hand, careful not to wake his brother. The fruit was a swirl of every color imagined, like the bejeweled fingers that held it. Whispers came, from the fruit, telling him to eat it. But he had already tasted one. You only tasted one.

Lucifer tossed it up and down, just watching a presumptuous woman.


	14. Chapter 14

--Madness in Method--

"_But he would not permit the demons to speak, because they knew him."_

-Luke 4:41

"You're ridiculously stubborn, you know that?"

"Yes." There was a sullenness in his voice, but the pain still overwhelmed it. Were it not for the arm around his waist he might have collapsed, but thankfully it was there. Still, it meant arguing wasn't one of his top priorities. At least in his few hours of forced rest he'd gained the strength to walk. That would be enough for this.

"Just to watch a Dragon play with some humans, too," Azazel chided. The cherub was right. Like he often was.

"I want to see."

Curiosity was a bit like stubbornness; always there, hard to overcome, a driving force of the unmovable. If Samael was allowed to attack humans, hurt them, he had to know how and why. If Samael had done this before and not received the pit… damn God and His naïveté.

"There he is," Azazel said, pointing with his free hand.

The seraph Samael stood glorious amidst a harem of ugliness. His silver hair shined in the moonlight, his pale skin handsome and bright. Around him was a gathering of what looked like nearly two dozen humans. Yet the sickening, twisted air about them said otherwise. Demons; the urchins of this world and the next.

"Azazel," he cried quietly, stumbling as the cherub pulled away. It took a moment to straighten. Thankfully those damned souls had yet to notice them.

"If you want to do this you can," Azazel said. "I'll go with you, but I won't help you get there."

Finally that other seraph spotted them. He smiled oddly and waved for them to join the group. "You are ridiculous."

"What was that?" the cherub asked, daring him to repeat himself. His green eyes never turned, but vigilantly watched that fallen angel and each of those demons. Like he wouldn't hesitate to throw any to the pit if they returned the look the wrong way.

"_Nothing_."

"Lucifer. Twice in six short hours. I must be very… fortunate." Lucifer stood, blinked, showing the seraph just how fortunate he was. Samael glanced at Azazel, the disgust more than obvious. "Azazel too. That is… excellent."

"Going through with it? How bold."

"They are only demons," Samael said with a confident nonchalance only Lucifer could truly pull off.

"You were quaking before two earlier." It was Samael's turn to blink. "Why bother with them in the first place? Surely you could retrieve the trinket yourself."

"As a precaution," Samael said, and glared at Azazel who had said nothing. "Demons have abilities you and I - pardon, _I_ - do not."

"And of course, they are only rabid dogs to be unleashed. Not much intelligence to them, is there? Just a brutal predatory instinct?" He laughed, hiding his injury with words and rebuke. Persuade them to focus on minutiae and the obvious was an insignificant memory. That was the trick.

"Feel free to leave, if you are so concerned. No one invited-" The imperceptible tensing of Azazel's muscles made him pause.

Lucifer laughed to allay them both and waved a hand forward. The demons parted with emotionless disdain, recognizing but not respecting their superiors.

Seeing dozens of flashing eyes, that drunken, dying light within them, was disturbing. How he wished they would fog into black and remain! Just keep to their true selves instead of hiding behind others. But they had to possess humans to truly act, and Samael had brought them such a wonderful stage…

"This is a military complex," Lucifer said. The tall chain-link fence was topped with dangerous coils of barbed-wire. In the distance massive spotlights illuminated a sprawling building. A few ants could be seen patrolling it even from afar. "How do humans possibly know about the Trinity?"

"They don't," Samael explained. "I believe Raziel convinced them it is some kind of nuclear weapon. Or he hid it in the material for one. Either way-"

"You do not even _know_," Lucifer chided. Samael reddened a bit, his face too pale to hide the blood. "So you will brute force the job. Well, might as well get on with it."

The seraph took a moment. Wondering, silently asking why the devil did not help. But Lucifer gave him an icy look, responding quite simply that _he_ did not dirty his hands. That was enough, it seemed.

Samael turned, faced that razorblade fence, and toppled it with a look. The metal twisted and screamed, blown away like wind. Then those demons-looking-human waltzed across it casually slow, their eyes like fireflies in the night. A parade of sin, marching on.

"I will… see you inside, then," Samael said. His eyes narrowed at that devil. Thinking, though that might be a stretch for a fly, Lucifer laughed inwardly. "Lucifer. Azazel."

Then he disappeared. His path was still easy to follow though. Two idle jeeps erupted in mushrooms of flame, spotlights died in a rain of sparks, and a small section of that sprawling building exploded in a cascade of bricks. It was awesome havoc. Impossible damage all accomplished in a split second. Never touching a single human, Lucifer noted.

"He knows," Azazel whispered.

"He does not." He began following that clique of demons, his steps a little slower and a littler shakier now that Samael and his eyes were gone. Azazel fell in beside, and after a moment slipped an arm beneath his to help steady him. "Besides, it does not matter if he does."

"Whatever you say."

They stopped as gunshots screamed in the night. As commands were shouted in the harsh barking of Chinese. An alarm finally sounded, long and low, droning to wake the sleeping complex. Angel eyes watched those demons collapse, not one by one but all in a row, as bullets ripped apart their arms and legs and chests and faces. Shaking apart their flesh. Or the flesh of their hosts, since demons did not have their own.

Yes, that was it. They watched as humans killed innocent humans. That certainly made it less extraordinary.

As those soldiers circled and stared, seeing foreign faces through the mutilation, chaos broke loose.

A single soldier spun, his finger on the trigger, slaughtering his countrymen impassively where they stood. Their horrified surprise was delightful. Another dozen corpses dropped, a different color than the others but all dyed in red the same. The lone victor stood stoic. Until something large and loud exploded at his feet, ripping his torso from his legs.

An actual tank was rolling onto the scene, more behind it. Truckloads of soldiers following those. The entire complex seemed stirred to action, converging on that massacre. Though the real threat was inside.

"The cattle come to slaughter," Lucifer told his companion. In response Azazel pulled away his arm, folding it with the other and making the seraph stagger under his own weight. Lucifer glared, but went back to watching the carnage after a moment.

Because what came next was brilliant. The disembodied demons, unseen and immune to idiocy such as bullets, spread out. Lucifer spotted a few as they snared their victims. Humans would gag and choke as their puny frames were invaded by corruption. Some would collapse and struggle if they were strong-willed.

But these soldiers were not, so the demons possessed them without the drama of spitting green vomit or twisting their heads in the completely wrong direction. Their eyes just flashed like failing light bulbs, a split second, so only angelic ones would notice. Then they were gone, taken by damnation.

A cry. Two, ten- twenty! A tank rammed another, firing a mortar into it point-blank. Men gurgled as their insides were pulled to their outsides, their hands trembling to push them back in. Some never got the chance to struggle with their guts. Gunfire wailed.

The demons didn't fire but slaughtered with bare, stolen hands. They delighted in feeling necks snap beneath their fingers and seeing eyes go wide and dim, reveling in a bath of blood. It was perfect, vile chaos, but on a grander scale! Mangled bodies and bullets and sobs and flashing eyes and screaming and twisting bones and- and more!

Yet the glory fizzled shortly. All that remained were wailing injured, crying for life they had already lost.

The demons strode about nonchalantly and twisted off their heads to silence it all. Then they gathered again, drawn together like an unholy flock, and calmly studied their newest faces. Lucifer strode out to greet them, to compliment them on the play, but was stopped by two words.

"_Kill him_!"

It happened too fast. A dozen black eyes and more turned on him and he was flying, back, his head cracking against something hard. He collapsed forward with a gasp, managing to catch himself, and threw out his hands. The two demons charging him shredded in place, their arms tearing forcefully from their shoulders, their chests bleeding red as the skin peeled from their bones, and their faces turning away as the necks snapped completely back and flopped against their spines. Then he collapsed again, his hands on that bloody war zone to hold him up. He knew without looking they circled him, ravenous for blood.

But a cherub was there before him, shielding him, a beautiful copper bow in hand. His two gray wings were spread wide, holding back those demons with the sight.

"I can't kill them."

"You can," Lucifer managed. His voice was shaky, strained, yet perfect still. "There's nothing _human_ left in them."


	15. Chapter 15

--Can, But Can't--

"_I will perpetuate your memory through all generations."_

-Psalms 45:17

With a flick of his wrist he decimated one. Just a flick, that was all it took to rip a human head off its shoulders. Then another and another. Barely movement at all and they died.

A twang of that ivory string, held taut by copper, and a human died. The monsters within lived on, but their stolen flesh went away with a splash of blood. Using a bow without arrows he decimated them from afar. Taking them each with one harmonious twang of that shining copper bow.

It was his kindness to kill them swiftly.

But they were not kind enough to just die. When the monsters ran out of living puppets they turned to corpses, willing the things to move despite being tangled in their own innards. Azazel mutilated them more, one by one, decapitating a body with no arms, blowing the legs from one with no head. Everything was turning red as he maimed and killed the already dead. Gore piled up, rose again, and was returned to the pile bloodier than before.

Yet the demons never stopped, just kept coming with other poor, desecrated bodies. Coming faster and faster, knowing the fallen angel was getting slower and slower.

So he went to them. Bow clutched in his right hand he struck with his left. Two fingers slipped up through a jaw and tore, flinging the entire thing away with strands of dripping flesh. He jabbed his bow through another's sternum, hearing a crack and twisting to sever the spine. His fist struck another with such force that it was nearly obliterated where it stood.

Yet more were always coming. Never truly fighting him, not even angering when he butchered their bodies again and again, only desperate to pass by and kill a devil. But he refused to let them touch that devil, and they refused to truly die, so for now he struck them down.

"Effugio vires!"

A shockwave of pure power radiated from him, thrown out by his glorious wings. As it struck those warm, mobile corpses a thick kind of smoke seemed to blow from them. Twisted and grotesque, too sticky and solid to be real. But the force of that cherub's conviction made it so, and wiped it all away.

Now they were gone.

Then he turned, and wept.

One of those corpses, all bloodied and perverse, had a hand in Lucifer's belly. He could only stand, watch, as the thing pulled and tore out his intestines. Such lovely trauma. The devil's beautiful face twisted in it, reveled in it, was made perfect and heartbreaking in it. A face crafted for sympathy and hurt…

He slipped that copper bow over the demon's head, pulling back so the extraordinary string sliced through its neck. Its eyes clouded black and flashed as the head bounced off his pumping chest. The rest of it toppled obediently, its hand abandoning a seraph's guts.

"A-za-zel…"

He caught the god of this world by the shoulders, his eyes too watery and blurred to get closer. Not without touching those droopy, shiny insides hanging from his belly and hurting him more. When he spoke he regretted it instantly, his voice too sad for a dying soul's last memory.

"Y-you're going to be- fine," he whispered, trying to smile. But he could feel his lips tremble, his mouth twitch. "This won't- it won't stop you. Not you."

"Zaz…el…"

Blood poured out nicely, bubbling over his lower lip. His incredible blue eyes blinked, like liquid lead, and struggled to stay open. Then he fell, his flesh vanishing into a cherub's arms.

Then there was silence. The only noise a thud as he collapsed.

He lay lifeless upon that ground of blood and gore, his cheeks and lips smashed up strangely.

It was so unfair.

Lucifer couldn't die.

God couldn't let him die!

His throat clenched and his chest tightened.

Not Satan, he was a constant.

His chest felt ready to explode.

Satan couldn't die!

His lungs wouldn't work, he'd drown in the air.

Not him, not like this…

Tears poured freely down his face. Always down. Traveling like his memories.

Light! His face and His face. They had both been so perfect. He loved them both so much. Yet one was so fleeting, within but distant at once.

So long ago… The memories were slippery and blurred.

But his smiling face was just there, vivid and appeasing. He reached out a trembling hand, daring, daring to touch it. But blood guzzled over those lips and it frowned and vanished.

And then he was falling, that bitter freedom they shared. But then, then they were together again, and free. At the cost of nothing they were free. It seemed like eternity and seconds, that time. Things were different then, on earth. Less and more.

He had even been humbler for a time, he remembers sadly, sharing everything without embarrassment. They all tried to recreate their paradise on that rock. Stupidly, stupidly he thought he had managed! But in paradise those you love do not disappear. Except maybe once.

But this wasn't paradise, and he was alone just then.

He had hated him and everyone, just then.

But now, finally, finally he was no longer alone! His blood had flowed quicker at the idea. Then in a blink of an eye the idea was gone on a breeze, barely even thought, and he was alone again. Dreams taken by a hand, but whose? Alone forever. Satan couldn't die! He never thought it possible. What did he do now? His blood had flowed so fast, his only tears from glee.

He never cried, this wasn't fair…

He wouldn't let them have happiness. He wouldn't forget one mistake, or two. _Damn Him!_

"Must you weep so copiously, Azazel? It is touching, I admit, but honestly…"

His chest loosened, his throat unclenched, a chuckling singsong voice washed over him. Was it possible? Of course not. He dragged himself from the ground in happy doubt, his face washed clean by tears.

Lucifer stood wrapped in his six wings like a fluttering suit, radiant in that beauty he alone could achieve, that face of his cheerfully stoic. He reached out a trembling hand, daring, daring to touch it. It did not vanish or frown or guzzle blood. Just smiled at the disbelieving touch. He held it in his hand, held that wonderful warmth, happy for nothing else.

Then he reared back and smashed that flawless face, feeling the bones snap and an eye rupture beneath his fist.

"Y-you," Lucifer stuttered, staggering upright. He held a trembling hand over his eye as it reformed. What could be seen of his face was shocked, incredulous, and mixed with terror. "You- how dare you."

"How dare _you_! You arrogant asshole!" he screamed, feeling his blood pumping quick again. "I thought you were gone. Gone for good, Lucifer!"

An angel called Satan was silenced by that. He dropped his hand dejectedly, his face perfect and whole again. Something foreign filled that face, something odd. He couldn't quite look at the cherub, not with that thing inside him. It actually marred his beauty.

Was it… shame?

"I- I thought it would be…" _Humorous_, no doubt, Azazel thought angrily. But he softened at the unpracticed words that came next, so delicate a breeze might crush them. "I- I'm sorry, Azazel. It was cr-cruel to do that to you."


End file.
